Chapter 14

Dean fingered the neck of his dark t-shirt bringing the worn fabric up to his face and shoving it into his mouth to muffle yet another of the harrowing pain-filled cries that shook his entire being as they sought the exile he refused to grant them.

The room he had stumbled into began to swim around him and then fade in and out of his sight. His weary legs abandoned him once again and feeling he was slipping, Dean threw an arm out rapidly to brace himself. He frantically swung at the wall, latching on to it and attempted to use his elbows for support as he strained to push himself back into an upright position, but continued sliding downward nonetheless.

Dean inhaled sharply and with the last remnant of energy in his possession, swung his arm up again, this time colliding with the top of the small old dresser to his right. His tired fingers clung to the top edge for dear life, and Dean worked furiously to position himself against the decaying antique. Sweat poured in rivers down the young man's face and every muscle tensed and quivered as he began to rise. His injured body protested fiercely, refusing to subject itself to crippling agony raging through it, screaming for him to give in and collapse. I can't.

When Dean had reached waist-level to the dresser, he threw his upper body forward. He gasped as his chest smacked roughly against the wood, but continued feverishly to keep his position. He pushed against the floor with his good leg to further balance his upper body across it and when he thought himself in a good position succumbed to his body's aching plea.

Dean tilted his head to the side to face the entryway lest he be caught off guard and laid it against the coarse wood. His back arched as his lungs labored to force air in and out of him. Aside from that sole movement, his upper half lay limp. As for his lower half, his good leg braced him for the time being but he knew that it wouldn't much longer. And he refused to let his bad one hit the floor. That didn't pose too much of a problem simply because of the way his leg was snapped to the left. He could feel his jeans sticking to the wound, the dampness in his shoe, and the growing numbness creeping up his leg. He knew he was losing more and more blood by the second and the last time he'd glanced down, he noticed the entire bottom of his pant leg had turned a brownish-red and had to do battle with his stomach to keep his breakfast where it belonged.After that, he had refused to view the damage again. But he couldn't help but contemplate if he would even have a leg when this was all over.

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Sam ran his hand over the familiar rifle. It was Dean's. He had gotten it for his twelfth birthday from their father. Dean loved that gun and claimed it had never failed him, not even once. A smile formed on Sam's lips as he thought about his crazy older brother's fondness for inanimate objects. It always amazed him how Dean could make the simplest thing become legendary. As if the Impala wasn't enough…

Sam was beginning to get frustrated because Myrah wouldn't show herself, and his head was throbbing terribly because he kept trying to force his eyes to focus and actually see something. His gray was now a sea of black once again and Sam realized night had fallen completely.

Frustration led to anxiety and Sam's mind went into overdrive as a series of possible outcomes played themselves out. His thoughts drifted back to his nightmare and he quickly shut the images out refusing to believe them as feasible. Suprisingly, his nightmare didn't contain some of the worst images he was concocting at the moment. I can't take this anymore!

Sam was a Winchester and being a Winchester he did what every man in the Winchester household did when they were nervous, he rambled.

"So…Jessie, do you think that Dean's found Myrah yet? Cause I, personally, think that we would hear something if he did. Or the temperature would lower again or something, you know? I bet he's in a lot of pain. He'd never admit to it though. Was it extremely bad? I obviously couldn't see it so I have no way of really knowing. Though Dean did scream, and he doesn't scream much…What do you think?" Sam voice had a light feel to it and he spoke speedily hardly pausing to breathe. He waited all of about a second for Jessie to reply but she didn't. Maybe she didn't hear me. "Jessie, are you listening me?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Jessie replied sullenly.

"Oh, well, what do you think?" Sam asked, ignoring her tone.

"Sam, look, I'm not one for small talk, okay?"

"Okay, no small talk. So…uh, you used to live here?"

"Yeah, I did." Jessie sighed. This kid isn't gonna give up.

"Did you like it?" Jessie smiled at the young man's persistence and apparent interest in her history.

"Yes, I did. Did you like your childhood home?"

"Uh…well, I don't really remember it, we moved around a lot when I was younger. You said you communed with Myrah. What did you talk about with her?" Sam sighed when he realized he'd just pulled a Dean. Avoid the issue, deflect back as soon as possible. Man, he's really starting to rub off on me.

"Everything and absolutely nothing, if you know what I mean." Jessie's voice trailed off as she spoke and remembered.

"Yeah, I think I do."

Silence flooded the room again and Sam began to try and focus on the small sounds coming from Jessie's direction as she moved around. He made a game out of it, attempting to guess what exactly she was doing. It managed to amuse him for all of about a half hour before he felt the need to babble on again. But Jessie beat him to it.

"Myrah never tried to hurt me." Jessie stated matter-of-factly. "So I guess I don't understand why she wants to hurt you?"

"She thinks I have some kind of power."

"Do you?" Her question threw Sam for a moment, though it shouldn't have, he was expecting it.

"Well…I—sometimes…" Sam didn't know what to do. It's not like it's easy to inform some random person that you are a psychic and was extremely relieved when Jessie cut him off.

"Cause I do." Jessie confessed so softly Sam almost didn't hear her.

"What?"

"I said I do. Have power, I mean." Jessie voice stronger now

"Oh." Sam replied, quite stunned to say the least

"Myrah gave it to me." That got Sam's attention and his thoughts drifted back to Myrah's story that he'd made her tell. She's the irresponsible one, the reason Myrah's been weakened…

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A cool breeze blew throughout the room and Dean realized he'd lingered too long. He brought his head up and began looking for his gun that he had dropped carelessly before, but he had needed both arms to pull himself up so something had to go. He now regretted that decision. He caught sight of it to his left and pushed himself back up on his good leg, started moving towards it.

The gun lay only 6 feet away, but Dean would later swear it was a mile. The pain in his leg had subsided, but Dean figured that was only due to the blood loss and extensive damage and therefore wasn't a good sign nor something he could find hope in.

He sighed in relief upon arriving next to his prized possession but his small celebration was cut short by the figure that suddenly appeared directly before him. Dean tried to back away, but in his haste stepped down on his bad leg, renewed pain forcing him to the ground.

"Stupid boy. You should've known better." The figure's words dripping with superiority as she moved closer to Dean's writhing body, his face etched with pain, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Wh-what do y-you w-want?" Dean's words barely audible between his gasps.

"Power." Dean could feel the spirit's cool breath on his face, sending chills through him. "Your brother."

"S-sam isn't y-yours to t-take." Dean struggled with every word, and prayed they sounded believable.

"Oh. And whose going to protect him? You? Look at you, Dean. You're pathetic. You've failed. Sam's going to die at my hand and you—well, I'm still not sure what I'm going to do with you." Myrah's face was to his own now and Dean averted his gaze staring down at the floor. He started to move his hand back towards his gun, but Myrah caught his attempted heroics and laughed evilly as she brought her hand to his shattered leg.

A level of pain Dean never knew existed coursed through him. He screamed, a blood-curling wail that rushed his lips as he struggled futilely to escape Myrah's brand of torture.

Myrah released her hold and studied the man, the former man, before her, as his body trembled and tears fell from his hazel eyes. She had broken him, and now no one, mortal or immortal, could stand between her and her quest.

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Okay, my brain is officially fried. I got 5 chapters done in a week. Granted my bio, lit, and spanish grades are reflecting that, but hey, what can i say...i love writing this story and i love the fact that you guys like it! So send me a review please--encourage me to continue my feat and consequently fail a class or too. haha just kidding...not about the review part, about the failing part, but you already knew that!